Mirror of the Soul
by SassyLilPanda
Summary: Post 6.22 After Sam encounters a particularly harsh look at memory vs reality vs hallucination, Dean decides to take a little dreamwalking trip into Sam's mind to try and help his brother. His choice can either have a devastating or helpful affect.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Mirror of the Soul- 1/?  
>Author: LeilanaIce<br>Rating: PG-13 (for cursing)  
>Genre: Gen, Emotionally and Physically Hurt!Sam, some slightly hurt!Dean, protective!Dean<br>Characters: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Lucifer, Michael  
>Spoilers: Season 6<br>Disclaimer: Not my sandbox; I just like to play in it every once in awhile.

This is the first chapter written for Summer of Sam Love at LJ! The story is for purplehrdwonder. I hope you like it, girl! I'm sorry I haven't written the next chapter. I've had a lot going on, but I'm close to being finished with Chapter 2. Should have it done today. This story will probably end up being 2-3 chapters long! Enjoy the first chapter folks! This story literally takes place moments after 6.22 ended. Read on, friends!

* * *

><p>Chapter One<p>

The drive back was hard, and stressful and painful. All three hunters had packed themselves into the old beat up clunker Sam had snagged from Bobby's salvage yard once he had woken up and was coherent enough. The memories of the atrocities his soulless self had committed that year, and on top of that, the memories from Hell assaulted him. His tortured, broken and destroyed self had warned him, and he didn't listen... The pain in his head had left him wanting to collapse, clutching his hands to his head, curling up into himself and forgetting about the world as the memories of raw flesh, blood, fire, darkness, pain, screaming, and evil took over, but no. He couldn't. He knew Dean was out there, waiting for him to show up and help him fight the angel who used to be their friend until he betrayed Sam. So, once Sam had sat up and discovered the gun left for protection, along with the note left by his side with the address Bootback, Kansas left on it, Sam sucked in a breath, fought against the hellfire threatening to burst out of his mind and consume him, with one thing on his mind; his big brother.

And he made it. Flashes of the memories screaming in his grapefruit causing him incomprehensible pain threatened to make him lose control, pull the car over, and fall into the pit of horrors that lay thick and fresh in his brain, but no. No, Sam couldn't let himself fall. He couldn't leave his big brother to fight their used-to-be friend, Castiel, by himself. No way, no how. Dean had never left Sam all alone, and he was not about to let Dean down now. So Sam arrived, trembling with the force of an aftershock after an earthquake, clutching his head as sharp pains attacked it, but taking deep breaths to steady himself, determination and conviction setting him forward on the path that led to his big brother. Sam laid eyes on the sight that lay before him as he stumbled forward. Dean's baby, the Impala, was flipped over onto her roof, looking crushed and sinking into the ground. Sam's heart had dropped down into his stomach at the sight. His brother and Bobby... They couldn't be in there, could they? His only family he had left? Really? Trapped? Bleeding? Wounded? Dead? Sam had gotten out of the car and stumbled to Dean's broken baby. He had peered inside, feeling relief settle over his entire aching body. Dean and Bobby weren't in there, which could only mean one thing; they were inside of the mansion-sized building ahead. Fighting the hellfire and the screaming and the pain, Sam made his way inside stealthily and without being caught.

As he approached the next room he'd come to, he heard the words Castiel spoke and knew instantly what he'd done. Sam felt the imminent danger his big brother was in, and his words from years and years ago, the night Dean had made his deal to save Sam, drifted back into his mind._ "I guess I have to save your ass for a change." _Damn right he was going to save his big brother if he had anything to say about it, bad memories or inside, Sam caught Dean's eye swiftly while Dean continued trying to sweet-talk Castiel down, trying hard to get the angel, who'd once been like family to them, to lose the millions upon millions of Purgatory souls that resided within him now. Sam grabbed the angel killing blade off the floor and proceeded to stab Castiel with it, pain tearing through his own heart at having to do this to somebody he once would've died for, but nobody came before his family, before his big brother.

Dean and Bobby were his family, and they were all he had left. Not this supernatural creature who'd proclaimed himself as the new God, a better one, that had tore down his only way of being protected from the 180+ years of Michael and Lucifer hate-banging him over and over and over. Much to Sam's chagrin, it hadn't worked, and he could only assume at that point it was the power of the millions of monster souls the beast had consumed. He was no longer Cas. He was no longer an angel. He was an evil, supernatural piece of shit who'd betrayed himself and his brother. The sounds in the room at that point had become muffled and confusing as he listened to Dean shout profanities, something about never bowing to him, Castiel's gravelly voice echoing loudly around the room, and all Sam could do was stand and stare, struggling to make sense of anything that was happening. After Castiel had left them with an ominous warning, disappearing from their sights, Sam collapsed, going to his knees, Bobby fell back against the wall breathing heavily and Dean, clutching his arm, rushed to his little brother's side, ignoring his possibly broken limb.

"Sammy? Sammy!" Dean exclaimed as he too went to his knees in front of his brother, grabbing ahold of the sides of Sam's lolling head, bringing Sam's face upward toward his own. "Hey, Sam? C'mon now. Snap out of it. Cas is gone. It's alright. You did good. You tried really hard, it's okay. Sam!" Dean smacked Sam on the side of the face to try and pull his brother out of the odd-like trance Sam seemed to have fallen in. Sam blinked his eyes a few moments before focusing on Dean's face.

"Dean?" Sam mumbled. "What happened? Where are we? How'd we get here?" the younger Winchester slurred, bringing his hands up to clutch onto his brother's shoulders for support.

Dean chuckled a bit, brushing back hair out of his little brother's eyes. "You tell me, Sasquatch. You're the one who showed up here and stabbed angel with a God-complex in the back," Dean tried to joke. "How'd you end up out here anyway, Sammy?"

"Oh...right, I drove. I woke up in the panic room. I found your gun. I kept it with me, Dean. It's in my jeans." Sam reached down to the back of the waistband of his jeans and pulled the gun out, holding it shakily in his hands to show Dean he'd brought it with him. "I drove here because I had to save you. I had to keep you from getting killed, Dean. I wasn't going to leave you alone out here, no matter what. I told him that it didn't matter if I had to remember or not. I wasn't going to leave you alone, Dean," Sam told him, his voice straining.

Dean just gazed at his brother, staring into intense, shining hazel eyes, not sure what Sam meant when he said "him" but listened intently as Sam explained himself in weakened earnest. Dean patted Sam's hand that clutched the pistol and lowered it, slipping the gun out of Sam's hand, and sliding it into the front of his own waistband. "Alright kiddo, let's go find that car you drove out here, huh? We can head back to Bobby's and figure out our next move from there, okay? That sound good?" Sam nodded his head in response to Dean's words, never taking his large, puppy eyes off of his big brother. Dean mused over how it made Sam look like a young child. "You think you can stand?" Dean grabbed ahold of Sam's biceps, ignoring his injured arm, and helped his gargantuan brother to his feet, only to find the younger man swaying slightly and still trembling. "Whoa, whoa. None of that now, Sammy. What'd you do, drink a bottle of whiskey on your way here?" He heard Sam's quiet scoff as Dean made to sling Sam's arm over his shoulders, wincing somewhat as the pain radiated through his own wounded appendage.

"Dean, don't. You're hurt. I can stand on my own. Just give me a minute." _Ever the Sammy. He never missed a beat._ Pulling himself together as best he could, Sam did just like he said he would and straightened himself out as much as possible, giving Dean a weak smile.

Bobby had taken a moment to pull his shaken self together as well before slowly making his way over to Sam and Dean and placing a hand on both of his boys' shoulders. Sam and Dean both could tell that Bobby was feeling that fall down those stairs and both exchanged worried glances with one another before turning back toward the eldest hunter. He looked Dean in the eyes, giving him a nod of confirmation that he was alright before moving his hand from the older Winchester's shoulder and placing both of his hands on Sam's now. "Sam, it's good to see you up and about, son," Bobby told the younger man affectionately. "You boys ready to head out? I'll drive us home, just lead the way to the car."

"I didn't park far from the Impala," Sam pointed out as he nearly lost his footing, feeling a wave of dizziness and pain roll through his head and down his body causing the boy to shudder. Sam placed a hand on his forehead and squeezed his aching eyes shut. "Whoa. Man, this sucks."

"Hey, c'mon now, Sam. Just let me help you," Dean insisted before using his good arm to take one of Sam's long arms and sling it back over his shoulder. He put his good arm around his brother's waist and felt Sam lean into him for support, but not so much that he couldn't handle the weight. "Now let's just focus on getting the hell out of here and back to Bobby's."

"Yeah that's fine," the older hunter grunted from behind the brothers. "I can come back and tow the Impala back to the house and when you're feeling up to it, you boys can just work on her out there," Bobby suggested as the boys began walking slowly forward, Sam leaning on Dean and Dean holding tight onto his little brother.

"That sounds great, Bobby. Thanks," Dean responded in gentle gratitude before inclining his head to look at his kid brother. "Hey, Sam? You still with me?" Dean prodded his younger brother, who's head began flopping forward as though he were struggling to hold it up.

"Hurts, Dean. It burns. The flames. Over and over. Skin stripping off piece by piece, each bone broken in so many different places. The blood. There's so much blood. Pain, Dean. Just, pain," Sam mumbled somewhere under his long mop of hair covering his eyes.

Dean could feel his heart beginning to hammer in his chest, remembering his own horrors of Hell and the fact that his brother had been trapped down there with the two most powerful archangels in existence flaying him to the raw nerve, stripping him down to bone. "Sammy, it's okay. You're not in Hell. You're here. You're with me and Bobby, and we're going to go home now and get you some real rest. Hey, hey! Sam. Look at me," Dean demanded, nudging his brother roughly with his shoulder. "Please, Sam. Don't fall back in there. You gotta stay with me little brother, okay?"

Sam looked over at Dean, nothing but pain could be seen marring his features, emptiness, brokenness in his hazel depths and he met Dean's eyes, green and bright with worry. "Okay, Dean. I'm here. I'll stay with you." Sam looked pale, exhausted and spent and Dean continued forward, leading his kid brother as Bobby stayed behind the brothers, ready to help and support in any way he could should Sam collapse or something worse. Lucky for them, they made it to the car without anything too terrible happening, except for Sam losing his footing a few times as if he were a toddler just learning to walk. With a pang, Dean looked back at the Impala, opened up the passenger side back door to the beat up, rusted piece of metal Sam had managed to hotwire and drive out here, and carefully laid Sam into the back seat. His legs were too long for him to properly stretch across the seat, so they were scrunched up and folded, looking rather uncomfortable, but the young man didn't even seem to pay it any mind. The minute he was laid back, Sam closed his eyes and Dean felt his heart leap in slight panic.

"Hey, Sammy? You're not passing out on me and going somewhere I can't get to you again, are you?" the older Winchester questioned, giving Sam a pat on the leg.

Sam cracked open one eye and gave Dean a crooked, half-smile in acknowledgment before sighing. "No, Dean. Just really tired. Need to sleep it off. That's all," Sam replied, sounding exhausted but convinced, and he closed his eyes once more, folding his arms over his chest, body still trembling.

Dean carefully removed his own coat, grimacing at the pain in his arm as he tried to pull his arm through the sleeve of his coat without jarring it too much. "Here, Sasquatch. This will help keep you warm," he told Sam, gently laying his warm coat over Sam's body and the younger Winchester sighed in gratitude before he was breathing heavily, indicating the arrival of much needed sleep. Maybe that was all that was wrong with Sam? Maybe he was just exhausted because while it may have looked like he'd been sleeping on that cot in the panic room, he hadn't been. There was most likely so much more going on in his head, and Dean didn't want to think of the horrors the lay somewhere in the depths of Sam's gargantuan brain. Sam was fast asleep before Bobby even re-hotwired the car. Dean seated himself in the front, passenger seat, clutching his most likely broken arm to his chest, and Bobby climbed into the driver's seat, pulled out and drove fast and far away from the end of the beginning of their new lives.

~End Chapter


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Sam was seated comfortably at Bobby's desk, books piled up a mile high all around him with his nose shoved in another, focused and driven. His hazel eyes were bright, wide and alert, studying and researching, as Dean would tease him, books he kept next to his KY. Sam rolled his eyes feeling somewhat amused by his brother and the antics that always seemed to pop up when Dean was around and then turned his eyes back to the text on the dry, yellowed pages. After everything Castiel had done to them, it was all Sam could do to help his brother and Bobby find some way to stop him, or to bring him back, maybe somehow pull the souls of millions upon millions of monsters that currently resided within the angel. They were looking for something-anything to bring Cas out from this new "God complex" the angel had decided to go on.

Sam heard Bobby and Dean's voices in the distance, but thought nothing of it as he studied the ancient text of the thick, hardback covering he currently nearly had his face pressed into from studying it as intently as he was. The brothers and Bobby had been searching almost nonstop since they'd arrived back to the salvage yard after the angel's dark threat on their lives. Sam rubbed his forehead gingerly against a small headache beginning to form and closed his eyes against the aching tension behind them. Honestly, he was starting to feel tired and could probably use a bit of a nap. The thought sounded welcoming.

"Sam?" spoke up a voice in front of him, and the younger Winchester sighed grumpily. He hadn't heard Dean come back in and knew that his brother had taken a break from all the research to working on fixing up the Impala since she'd been thrown onto her roof by a hoard of demons. All Sam wanted to do was just go to the couch, stretch out as much as his long body would let him and sleep.

"I still haven't found anything yet, Dean," Sam breathed running a hand through his hair, and he flinched at his own voice. He hadn't used it in a few hours since all he'd done was focus on the piles and piles of books around him, both on the floor and on the desk. It sounded exhausted, wore down and strained. He opened up his eyes and looked up at the figure standing in front of him. What he saw wasn't Dean, and it caused Sam to leap out of Bobby's chair, sending it flinging across the room. Books and papers went flying and scattered about. The younger Winchester backed up against a wall, his research and forming headache forgotten, eyes widened with fear. "W-what…what are you doing here! You shouldn't-I didn't- y-you can't be here! You're still down there!" Sam cringed at how pathetically childish he sounded, but he honestly never thought he'd feel this scared ever again in his entire life. Everything inside of him screamed for Dean, begged for Dean to rush in and be there with him. Sam needed his big brother like a dying patient needed a blood transfusion. He needed him STAT, but there was no sign of Dean. Just the face of the most ultimate evil that Sam hoped he'd never have to lay eyes on ever again.

Lucifer smiled, standing there in his former meatsuit that had been left to rot on the warehouse floor in Detroit. His arms were folded gingerly across his chest. It was one of his soft, but yet cold smiles that Sam had come to know while seeing naught but Lucifer or Michael wearing Nick's face and his younger brother, Adam's, face. Blue eyes still piercing into Sam, Lucifer began making his way slowly toward the younger Winchester. Sam blanched hard, and his stomach rolled violently as he caught the smell of decaying flesh wafting from the dead meatsuit Lucifer continued to inhabit. This was how Sam had known Lucifer, had seen him in the cage whenever he wasn't wearing the face of his long dead girlfriend, or his father or Dean, and this had to be a memory or a nightmare. That was all it could be, because there was no way Lucifer was out of that prison. Not at all.

Lucifer chuckled at Sam, staring him up and down. "Is that so? And what makes you think we're not down there, in the cage right now, Sam?" the devil questioned cryptically. "I mean is this really Bobby's house? Or are we still down in the cage? Or is this all in your head? Perhaps you're going crazy. Are you going insane, Sammy?"

"No, nonononono, this isn't real. You're not real. You can't be here. This isn't real. I'm dreaming. This is a nightmare. I'm not in the cage. I'm not in Hell. I'm not!" Sam's heart was pounding so hard against his ribs that it felt like it might physically burst out of his chest and land on the floor. There was no way because _he'd_ been pulled from the cage. His body had been pulled by Castiel and later his soul, right? Death had taken his soul from Hell and he had put his soul back, right? Lucifer was still trapped down there. He had to be. There was no other possible explanation. Why would Death want to bring back Lucifer when he abhorred the devil with every existence of his being? He wouldn't.

"Oh, c'mon now Sam. You remember everything that went on now, don't you? You remember how you destroyed my plans to get rid of all you little hairless apes that continuously ruin God's _beautiful_ work day by day, and then how you all turn around and blame me for it," Lucifer's voice sounded disgusted, but he soon changed his tune, smiling once again at the younger Winchester. "Tell yourself, Sam. How different was it down there than here? How do you know you're not really here? Because I think you're in Hell, Sam. You remember every single second, every moment, every half second of all 180 years. You remember all the…_fun_… we had down there, don't you now? Me? Michael? And you? So why are you running now? What happened to that submissive little Sammy who let me do what I wanted? Who let me filet his skin off piece by piece willingly because he deserved it, hmmm?" Lucifer smirked at Sam and placed a finger on Sam's chest. "How do you honestly know that you're not still in Hell? Has anything given you the indication that you're not? Think about it now, Sammy. How different is here," Lucifer gestured with his hand waving across the room. "Than in the cage?"

"DEAN!" Sam cried out for his big brother, feeling truly and thoroughly terrified for the first time since he could remember. This was fear beyond fear. This was an actual plead for help, for his big brother because there was no way he could still be trapped in the cage. If he was in Hell, then Dean wouldn't help. If he was in Hell… "HELP ME! IT'S LUCIFER! H-HE GOT OUT SOMEHOW! DEAN! I NEED YOU, PLEASE!"

Lucifer tossed his head back and laughed. "Oh, Sam. C'mon. You're allllllll the way down in the bottom pits of Hell. Do you honestly think Dean is going to hear you? Going to hear you whining and screaming his name? Crying for big brother's help like a helpless child? No, Sam. Dean's living his own life. Now that you're gone and you're not ruining his chances for normality, Dean is happy. He doesn't care about you, Sam. He never did. Not like I did."

Lucifer advanced forward and ran a cold finger down Sam's cheek. Sam tried to jerk his face away and pressed back against Bobby's fireplace so hard that he could feel the corner of it ramming into his shoulder. "Hmmm. Misbehaving. As usual," the devil stated sounding bored. Lucifer's hand disappeared in the pocket of his jeans and then reappeared. The devil was holding something, and Sam couldn't see what it was, but he had an idea, and it couldn't be anything good. Dean wasn't coming. Dean wasn't showing up, so this was real. Sam was truly still trapped down in the lowest pits of the ninth circle of Hell to suffer endlessly with no help from his brother, from Bobby, from Castiel, from anyone.

The fear was coursing through him now. His chest heaved with every breath, and his heart continued to throb painfully against his ribcage, and tears crept to the corners of his eyes. The overwhelming stench of burning and decaying flesh made him feel like he wanted to throw up, and his stomach lurched painfully a few times. Sam swallowed hard against the bile in his throat, before his eyes caught light glinting off the object in Satan's hand. It was a razor and the light glinting off of it was hellfire. Sam's eyes darted around the room in panic. He could see he was still inside of Bobby's house. Lucifer must have decided to use this location for his next torture session. Fire was beginning to shoot up in different directions around the room. First the couch caught fire, then the desk, followed by fire snaking it's self across Bobby's wooden floorboards. Lucifer waved his hand lazily before the fire made it's way to Sam's foot. It slithered over Sam's boot like a venomous snake and began slowly crawling up his jeans. Sam whimpered and wheezed as the flames licked at his skin, burning through his jeans, snaking upward toward his stomach, burning through his shirt and onto his diaphragm. It seemed to stop there and Sam let out a painful cry as the flames began charring his flesh, and he gagged from the stench. There was a ripping sensation in his stomach and Sam looked down to see his skin slicing open slowly by an unseen force, horizontally, and blood was sneaking it's way out. Unable to hold back his resolve any longer, Sam screamed, long and loud. "Lucifer! Please!" the younger Winchester pleaded to no avail.

"Oh, c'mon now Sam. A little fire and blood never hurt anybody much," Lucifer chided as he lifted the razor, studying it as if it were some fascinating artifact. "I mean it is the same way that your mother and Jessica went out. I thought maybe you might like to experience it for yourself," the devil suggested as if he were casually offering Sam a slice of pie. " No? Hmm, well, if you don't like fire, maybe you'd like this better." Lucifer lifted the razor, the sinister grin growing wider on his inhuman, decaying face.

Instinctively, Sam reached out next to the fireplace and grabbed a fireplace poker. He swung it above his head, screaming at the pain, the fury and the fear coursing through him, and ready to hit Lucifer with it when Sam felt his wrists grabbed by two warm hands, and he was jerked forward. Some cold water was splashed in his face and the shock of it sent him down to his knees. Flinging his hair back and blinking water out of his eyes, Sam looked up, to see Dean knelt down in front of him, his hands clutching Sam's wrists and Bobby standing next to Dean with a rather large, empty glass. Sam's eyes darted around the room frantically searching for a sign that Lucifer was near them, but he saw nothing. He could hear Dean's voice, but it sounded really far away, even though Dean was sitting right in front of him. Or was he? Bobby's voice joined in with Dean's, and before he could react, Sam felt himself being slapped good and hard across the face.

"SAMMY! Are you with me! C'mon, Sam. Snap out of it!" came Dean's voice, loud and pleading. "C'mon man, please! Come back to me, Sam!"

"D-Dean?" Sam stammered out his brother's name. He rapidly blinked the water and blurriness from his eyes and saw Dean sitting right in front of him, clear as day and unharmed. Sam's eyes darted around the room again, and he could see they were in Bobby's house. And the house was not on fire. And there was no sign that Lucifer was ever there. Nor was there ever a sign that the house had been on fire just moments ago. No charred remains of Bobby's couch, or desk or burns across the floor.

"Dean," Sam repeated. Wrenching his wrists away from his brother, he ran his hands down the front of his shirt. His clothes weren't burnt, but the lingering pain of the flames torching his skin was still there. Sam grabbed ahold of his brothers' arms and looked into Dean's worried, and confused green eyes. "Am I… I mean, we're…you're… Dean, you're real right? This is real, right? We're at Bobby's, right? I have to know, Dean. Please tell me I'm not still in Hell. Please," Sam pleaded, his throat closing up on him and voice breaking on the last word.

"Sammy, listen to me. Look at me. You're here, at Bobby's on Earth. You're with me. You're not down _there_," Dean gestured pointing his hand downward, "anymore, Sam. Everybody's here and safe. You're with me and Bobby and Castiel is still a dick with wings."

"So it…I just…Dean. What happened? What happened to me? Oh god," Sam slurred slightly, placing a hand to his forehead. Unrelenting tears began burning his eyes. "I think I might be going crazy," Sam allowed his head to drop and his whole body to slump forward before he found himself laying against his big brother and not Bobby's hardwood floor. Dean had his arms wrapped tightly, protectively around his gigantic, little brother, and Sam nestled his face into Dean's neck and shoulder. He gave a shuddering breath and felt Dean squeeze him, if possible, even tighter. This was just too much to take. Was everything he just saw real? Was it a memory? Was he confusing realities? Was a part of Lucifer still inside of him? Still attached to him and waiting for the right moment to come out? A harsh voice resounded inside of Sam's head, echoing and torturous_. _

_"Get up Sam and act like a man. Stop acting like a small child who needs big brother to hold him and make it all better." _

"_You're weak, Sam. Weak. I'm strong. I'm not handicapped, like you. You're jello, pal. That's why you're all sprawled out on the floor sobbing like the prom queen who just got ditched by her date." _

"_Sam, I warned you. I told you. You can't imagine what it was like down here. You can't even begin to understand the agonies. The tortures. I told you that you'd never be able to handle it."_

"No, Sam. You're not going crazy. You've been through Hell and back. Literally," Dean's soothing voice broke through the echoes of voices swimming through Sam's head, and they all abruptly stopped as Sam focused on the intonation of Dean's voice. "It's okay. I know. I understand. We're gonna figure this out. I'll have Bobby make you a cup of _tea_," Sam didn't see the looks Dean and Bobby exchanged, "and then you're going to drink it and lay down and rest. You're exhausted, kiddo. You need sleep. I think we all do. I'll stay here with you. I won't leave you alone. I promise, Sammy," Dean spoke gently, carding his fingers through his little brother's damp hair. "I'm here, Sammy. I'm here. It's okay."

Sam buried his face further into Dean's neck, breath hitching, wiping the few tears that had managed to escape onto the collar of his brother's shirt. "Okay," was all he could say, because he felt if he opened up his mouth to say anymore, than he really _was_ going to be sobbing like a ditched prom queen. Sam allowed Dean to help him to his feet and maneuver him across the room and to the couch. He had to admit that he did feel like he'd been whammied beyond belief. Maybe this time he got hit by two planets instead of just one. Maybe more. He wasn't even sure what time of the day it was or even the date. It felt like it'd been years. More years than Sam could comprehend at the moment.

Time and space had no meaning to him at the present moment. All that mattered was that he was with Dean. He was safe. He was alive. He was on Earth, and he was with his big brother. For now at least. Dean kept a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed it gently as Sam leaned back with a soft sigh and closed his burning, aching eyes. He ran his fingertips over them and then squeezed the bridge of his nose. His head was pounding, his legs and stomach were still burning and felt like jelly, but the sensation was slowly dying away. He allowed Dean to remove his boots and then felt his big brother lifting his legs to place them more comfortably on the couch.

"I can do it myself, Dean. I'm not handicapped," growled Sam as he lifted his own legs and laid them across the couch.

"Jeeze, Sam. You should consider taking your Midol with your tea before you fall asleep," Dean grumped back.

"Sorry, I'm just… I'm tired, Dean, and I just…" Sam hesitated for a moment. "Dean?" He removed his hand from his eyes and looked at his big brother. The expression on Dean's face made his eyes water all over again, and he held back the salty tears, clearing his throat to steady his voice. "What happened to me?" Sam whispered. "Please, tell me…"

"Well, you were sitting in Bobby's chair reading a book and the next thing we know, you're screaming. I don't just mean like regular screaming, I mean like fearful, painful, screaming like… like nothing I've ever before come out of you. So, Bobby and me, we came running in the house and you were screaming about being on fire. You saying that it was burning you and some of your words… well, Sam. They didn't make any sense. They were spoken in a language that we didn't even recognize," Dean told him worriedly.

"Enochian…," Sam replied softly. "Had to be…" Sam chose to ignore the alarmed look on Dean's face, and then gestured for his brother to keep going.

"O-oh, well we tried to snap you out of it, but you wouldn't come out of it and you were looking in every direction but us, but nothing was there. So, I told Bobby to grab a glass of ice cold water and throw it in your face, slap you around a bit and see if that worked," Dean teased lightly.

Sam snorted sounding slightly irritated. "Nice, thanks Dean." He tucked back the still wet hair behind his ears and rolled his hazel eyes.

"Well, it worked didn't it?" Dean argued back. We got you to come around some didn't we?"

"Yeah. Maybe you could try less violent methods if this happens again?" Sam suggested.

"I'd like for this _not_ to happen again, Sam," Dean told him seriously, all traces of teasing gone from his face and voice. "We need to figure this out, little brother and I'm gonna do everything I can to make it better. Nothing is gonna happen to you again. Not on my watch."

"Dean," was all Sam could say, and he felt a surge of affection for his older brother. It didn't matter how old he'd gotten, what age he was. It didn't matter that he'd once been a soulless bastard who let his big brother get turned into a vampire and tried to kill Bobby. Dean still protected him like he did when he was a child.

Bobby walked into the living room holding two ceramic coffee cups in each hand and handed one to both brothers. "You idjits drink up and get some rest. Especially you, Sam," Bobby ordered, folding his arms across his chest and staring down at his boys. "I need ya both sharp and on your feet if we're gonna deal with this angel-God-Purgatory crap," he grumped, waving a hand around in the air.

"Yeah, we got it about the first thousand times you said it, Bobby," Dean shot back, and Bobby just made a snarky expression that Dean chose to ignore. "Bottom's up." He tapped mugs with Sam and watched his younger brother take the first big gulp from his.

"This is really good, Bobby. Thanks," the younger Winchester thanked Bobby before downing the rest of his mug. He turned and looked and Dean and smiled, before the wave of exhaustion hit him and Sam fell back against the cushions on the couch, then slumped over, dead asleep.

"That was the last of my stash of dreamroot, Dean. So I'm tellin' you right now, you wanna get in your brother's head, now's the time to do it, because I doubt after this he's gonna be lettin' you back in," the older hunter warned.

"Yeah, you're right. Well, wish me luck. God, or Satan, only knows what I'm gonna find in there," Dean agreed before lifting his mug in salute, downing the entire thing himself and following Sam. Dean was slumped over one arm, while Sam lay over the other. Bobby frowned at the boys before grabbing a large blanket and throwing it over both of them.

"Damn, idjits are gonna be the death of me."

~End Chapter


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Dean felt like he was being tossed. Not too hard or anything, but enough to get his heart racing with anxiety a bit. He was soaring, and tumbling head over heels through absolute nothingness like a football soaring through the air and into the hands of it's retriever. However in Dean's case, there was nobody waiting there to catch his fall, if there was a place to fall. Had he made it inside of Sam's head? Dean didn't get a chance to think about it before he found himself floating gently down and landed on his feet. "Hello?" Dean called out, listening for any response, but he heard nothing. There was no echo to his voice, no answer call back from Sam. Dean was just lost, trapped within a black void, and to be honest, it was kinda starting to freak him out a little bit. "Okay, Dean. Chill. You'll get this figured out. You always do. Just need a place to start," he murmured to himself, glancing around. He could see nothing around him. He could hear nothing around him or feel nothing around him.

Even when he'd landed on his feet, he couldn't feel the floor underneath him in which he landed. It was like he was standing on air, _on_ the darkness. Gravity was there, but also not there. Dean smirked at himself for remembering a trick he saw at the movies once. He licked his finger and held it up, maneuvering it around himself. "Thank you, Captain Jack Sparrow," Dean grinned as he waited for the first hit of wind to touch him, but there was no wind, no warmth, no cold. "Well, this is worse than being in Davy Jones' locker," Dean mumbled and then shook his head. He _was_ inside of Sam's head, right? After all, he'd stolen some strands of Sam's hair and slipped it into his own cup of dreamroot. He didn't get them confused, did he? Nah, couldn't have. Dean breathed in deeply through his nose.

There was nothing to smell, nothing to touch, nothing to taste, and the blackness, the darkness that consumed him seemed as if it would go on forever. "SAMMY!" Dean called out for his little brother, but there was no answer. He was just enveloped into a black void. "What the hell is going on here?" Seeing no other option, Dean began to walk. "This is really just incredibly stupid," he grumped as he walked, but of course he had no clue where he was walking to. All that surrounded him was blackness. What was this part of Sam's mind anyway? Dean trudged on, on the black void that lay under his feet, sat on all sides of him and floated above his head was almost taunting in a sense. "I don't even know what the hell I'm doing," the older Winchester complained loudly. "ALRIGHT, SAM! ENOUGH WITH THE GAMES! COME OUT COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE!" Dean yelled out to his brother, clearly exasperated now.

"MARCO!" he stopped and listened, but there was no response of 'Polo' which made Dean feel even more on edge than he already was. "Okay, Sam. This is getting ridiculous!" Dean threw his hands up in the air and dropped them down to his sides. "I GIVE UP! TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE! OLLIE OLLIE OXEN FREE!" Dean ran a calloused hand through his spikey hair, turning in every direction, searching for a sign of his brother. He was about to open his mouth and shout again for Sam. He stopped in mid pre-shout when he saw something in the distance. It was glowing, and it looked a ways away, but who knew how long Dean had been walking in the void section of his brother's gargantuan brain. Huffing a large, obnoxious sigh Dean rolled his eyes and picked up the pace and began moving toward the glowing object. The closer he got, the brighter it became.

"Okay, Sammy. Let's see what game you have for me next." Before long, Dean had reached his destiny, and his destiny was that of a bright, white glowing door. Shimmering light spilled from it in all directions, casting strange glows on Dean. "Huh, well… this is new, Sam," he muttered sarcastically. "You didn't make it too difficult of a puzzle to figure out, little brother. So, I wonder, am I supposed to open this big, bright door and see what lies beyond?" Dean said to himself. "Are all of Sammy's secrets inside?" chuckled Dean, but in mid-chuckle the door slowly opened, all by itself without Dean even touching it. That stopped Dean cold in his tracks. "Oh… w-well, I guess that'd be a yes?" the hunter stammered, feeling somewhat alarmed by a door that just opened all by itself, and he could feel his heart rate picking up. Trying his best to keep his game face on, the older brother stepped up to the door where it opened wide enough for him to fit through. "Here goes nothin' I guess." He cleared out his throat and took a tentative step forward, stepping through the door way.

Once Dean was inside, the door slammed shut loudly behind him causing him to whirl around in surprise. It was the first sound he'd heard since he got here. There was an even an echo to follow. Dean scrunched his eyebrows together, studying the door before light shone around him, and he could finally see his own feet in front of him. He was standing on a very clean, simple linoleum flooring that almost reminded him of a kitchen tile. Dean looked up and what he saw nearly made his heart leap right out of his throat. Mirrors.

Rows and rows and rows of mirrors as far as the eye could see, and something appeared to be flickering in and out of each of the mirrors, but Dean couldn't quite make it out what was in them. He saw nobody else in the room of mirrors except for himself, so nothing could be making the reflection. Confusion and the urge of curiosity of a hunter filled the older Winchester, and so he moved toward the first set of mirrors. They stood tall, elongated. They were adorned with simple and elegant with dark, oak framing, and delicate glass. Dean stood in front of the first one, feeling slightly apprehensive. "So, am I supposed to say, 'mirror mirror on the wall. Who's the manliest one of all' or something?" Dean studied the mirror, and noticed that his reflection was not appearing in it. "Okay, this just gets weirder and weirder… what the hell is all this about, Sammy?" he wondered out loud.

Dean reached out to touch the mirror, and as soon as his fingertips grazed the cool glass, an image appeared before him. It was of Sam. He was very young, no older than maybe three years old. His little face was tear-streaked and he clutched a raggedy teddy bear to him as he toddled out of a room and to Dean's side. "De!" echoed little Sammy's voice all around Dean. It was as if that entire, tiny voice filled the entire room. "De, scared!" He stood at the edge of the couch, where Dean himself, no older than seven or eight yours old, had been sitting and reading a comic book. "What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean heard his younger self, just as clearly as Sam's voice. He cringed at the sound of it. He sounded irritated with his little brother, and then Dean remembered this. Little Sammy had had a nightmare and all he'd wanted was his big brother.

That night, Dean had already been irritated with their father and took it on his little brother. He remembered feeling horrible about it later. Dean tried not to listen to his voice as it snapped at the toddler Sammy, telling him to go back to bed and be a man. He tried walking away from the mirror, but the others just played the same scene as Dean tried to get away from it. However, it was to no avail, and so he stood in front of one and waited out the rest of it watching intently. Dean found himself flinching at his words and remembered how he'd been trying to channel dad that night. It only ended up with a very devastated little boy, who ran out of the room sobbing. "Oh man, Sammy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. I was just trying to be like dad, thinking I could 'be a man' like he always told me." Dean sighed, feeling slightly abashed. "I gotta tell him this if that still weighs on him. He's gotta know I didn't mean what I said. We were just kids."

"I already know you didn't mean it, Dean," a little voice sounded from behind Dean and he whirled around to come face to face with a little boy. He had to be no older than six years old. Dean knelt down in front of him, to get a better look. Those giant, hazel, watery puppy eyes peered right back into Dean's surprised green ones.

"Sammy!" Dean questioned, the shock heard clearly in his tone. It's what it looked like to him anyway. A real, live 6 year old Sammy standing right in front of him with his full-on puppy pout, and wiping his sniffly nose on the back of his hand.

"Dean?" the little voice piped up again and Dean found himself reaching out to put one of his big hands on one of Sammy's tiny, little shoulders. "D-Dean?" the little one whimpered out. "Why?"

"Why what, Sammy? What is it little man? You can tell me so I can fix it. I'm here for you, Sammy. What's wrong?" the older Winchester asked his little brother. Sam's bottom lip quivered and his tiny jaw trembled. Dean could tell this about to turn into one of his little brother's full-on crying fits. Sammy sniffed loudly.

"W-why did Jack have to die, Dean? Why? Did we do something wrong? I prayed to God every single night for Jack just like I do for you and Daddy," the small lip puckered out and tears started making their way down his brother's small face. Dean remembered this too.

Sam had been six years old, and he had been ten. His dad had rented them a house just outside of a town he was currently on a job in. They were going to be spending awhile in the town as a lot of dangers had popped up in the area for their father to take care of, so instead of renting out a motel for months, he rented them a house to stay in while he went about his business, and Dean took care of Sam just as he'd promised their dad that he would. A dog had followed him and Sam home one day when the two had walked into town and Dean bought them ice creams from the ice cream stand. It was a friendly, and sweet, with a constantly wagging tail, but the poor thing was also frail and hungry. It looked as though it had more German Shepherd in it than anything. Sam and Dean spent a few months taking care of him, and fattening him up, but one tragic day, the dog had ran out into the street chasing God only knows what and got himself hit by a car.

The dog had only survived for a few hours after it'd been hit. Sam had laid with Jack, tried to offer him food, water, a toy, but the dog just whined and lay there in misery. There was nothing Sam or Dean could do, but watch the dog slowly suffering until he finally passed. Sam and Dean had brought the dog out to their back yard. They had a small funeral for him (for Sam's sake), buried him together. It had been just the two of them and their beloved Jack. Little Sammy had been downright heartbroken as he'd been the one closer to the dog. He'd brought Jack scraps from dinner, played in the yard with him and brought him water. Dean reached out and brushed tears from Sam's cheeks, but the gesture had been pointless because they were only replaced with more.

"Awww kiddo. Jack got hit by a car. His body just couldn't live anymore after the car hit him. Remember I explained that to you once? Sometimes it's just…," Dean froze, at a loss for his words as he watched the tears streaking down his little brother's face, one right after the other. Sammy sniffled loudly.

"I-I know all that, Dean, but I thought that maybe if I prayed to God, God would make Jack all better. Why didn't he get better, Dean? Pastor Jim always said you should pray for the ones who are sick or hurt and God would make it better. He told me that once, Dean when you got hurt real bad and you were in the hospital. Pastor Jim told me to pray for you and that God would make you better, and he did. So why didn't God make Jack better?"

Little sobs choked their way out of Sam's voice as he did his best to make Dean understand. Unable to overcome the urge to hold onto his little brother, Dean gathered the small form into his arms and held on tight. Little Sam returned the gesture and clung to Dean's shirt, crying openly as a small child with a broken heart would. "I don't know, Sammy. Sometimes it's just their time. When it's time for them to go, God takes them and they go with him. That's just what happens," the hunter tried to explain to his crying little brother. "So, God took Jack and you know what Jack is doing right now?"

"What?" Sammy asked, sniffling into Dean's shirt and sounding genuinely curious.

"Well, Jack is up in Heaven and he's with God and he's with all the other dogs that have died and went to Heaven. He's playing and he has lots of bones, lots of food and lots of toys. He's in a better place now that makes him lots more happy." He hated lying to his brother, and kept his disgust hidden at the name _God_, but he didn't know what else to do, and so he did the only instinctive thing he could think of. He'd say anything he could to make his brother stop crying like that.

"Really?" Sammy's voice sounded lighter. He looked up at Dean, hope filling his large, watery hazels, and Dean felt his own emotions beginning to close up his throat.

"Really, Sammy." Dean promised.

"Jack's happy and safe with God now," the little boy told himself as if for his own reassurance. "Thanks, Dean. You're the best," the relieved little boy said, throwing his arms around Dean's neck and holding on like he never wanted to let go. Dean pressed his nose into Sam's soft, dark, baby curls and breathed in deeply.

"So are you, Sammy. So are you." Dean told his little brother, closing his eyes.

"Don't worry, Dean. I'm not mad. You're the best, Dean. You really are. Everything will be okay, Dean. I'll protect you too," his little voice spoke, muffled into Dean's shirt, but the older hunter heard it clear as day.

He felt Sammy squeeze him, and then the warm body disappeared from his arms. Dean looked down, bewildered. The six year old version of his brother was gone. Dean stood up, still in the room of mirrors, images still flashing in and out of the mirrors as well. Scratching his head and feeling a little confused, the older Winchester ventured on. "Well, if this is how we're gonna play this game, Sam, then I suppose I can hang out in here for awhile and follow the rules, but just this once. When we're outta here, and I find _you_, you're _so_ not pulling this shit on me again, little brother."

As he walked past the mirrors, Dean noticed that they were filled with Sam's memories, some of the hardest, saddest, scariest memories of his life, but there were some happy times as well. The further he walked, the older Sam got in each slate of glass. And the more Dean walked, the more unhappy his memories became. The unhappy ones seemed to override the happy ones, but he soldiered on. If he was going to find Sam and help fix his slowly breaking psyche, then he'd watch each memory of his little brother in the mirror. Dean stopped in front of another mirror in particular, not able to take his eyes off of the memory that engulfed this one.

Sam was running in it, screaming out Dean's name, panting, crying and grasping a .45 in his small, trembling hands. He was exactly twelve years old in this memory, because Dean remembered it too like it had been yesterday. Their dad had thought it would be _fun _to take Sam on his first hunt… on his twelfth birthday. Dean remembered how pissed he'd been with his father that day, because all Sam had wanted was a birthday cake, some candles to blow out , a new soccerball and a new book. He'd been devastated, and Dean had seen it in his little brother's eyes, but Sam didn't peep a word to John, after he'd already nearly ripped Sam's arm off when he forced him to go into the bedroom and change into clothes more suitable for the job. Dean hated that night, and hated this memory. He wished he could wipe it from Sam's memory. Maybe this night could've changed his little brother's entire destiny. This was the night Sam became a hunter.

"Sammy! No!" his younger self's voice screamed out his little brother. Dean saw the sixteen year old version of himself lying on the ground, his hands clutching his leg. His jeans on his right leg were ripped open, and blood was seeping through his clenched fingers that held his wounded leg. Dean remembered. That bitch had clawed through his jeans, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it looked. Of course, that's not what Sam thought. Sam had been panicking.

"I can't do it, Dean! I can't!" twelve year old Sam cried out. "I'm scared! I don't know how!"

"Yes you can, Sammy! You _can_, do it!" sixteen year old Dean encouraged his little brother. "Do what I taught you! Aim right for the heart! Just like we do at target practice! Please, little brother," Dean was pleading, practically panting from the pain. "You can do this, Sam! C'mon! I _need_ you to do this!"

"I-I," the young Sam stammered as he backed up toward Dean and stopped. He froze, just staring at the snarling creature advancing toward them. "I-DEAN! HELP ME! NOOOO!" Sam screamed, seemingly frozen by fear, but before the younger Dean could say a word, Sam shot off four rounds of silver into the werewolf's heart. The blood splattered and the creature had fallen to the ground with a sickening _thud._

"I was so scared, Dean," came his brother's tremulous voice from behind him. Dean whirled around to find the twelve year old version of his little brother, sitting on the floor of the room of mirrors. His knees were drawn up to his chest, both arms wrapped tightly around them. His seemed to be rocking slightly. Blood was covering his hands, splattered across his jacket and all over his face. "I was so sure it was gonna kill us, Dean. I really thought that we were going to die. I couldn't stop shooting the gun." Twelve year old Sam, turned his face upward to stare into Dean's.

There were no tears. There was no hitching breath, no suggestion that an oncoming breakdown was imminent, but what he saw in his little brother's eyes nearly sent him over the edge. He'd never noticed it when he was younger. Perhaps he'd been too young, or maybe just ignorant to what this job had been doing to his little brother. That werewolf had been Sam's first hunt and first kill. All on his own with no backup. His normally shining, dancing hazel eyes were now clouded over, and haunted with the trauma of his first kill. His eyes now carried a new look, a new expression, much more than what any twelve year old boy's eyes should've looked, the eyes of a hunter. "All I could think of was, my big brother was gonna die, and it would be all my fault. I had to save you, Dean. I had to save you, just like you saved me."

Dean found himself kneeling down in front of Sam once more and he reached a hand out again to placate Sam. He laid it tenderly on his kid brother's arm and gave Sam a gentle squeeze."Hey, hey, it's okay, kiddo. Just calm down now. It's alright. You did a great job, Sammy. You were a real hero that day, remember? You saved me and you saved anybody else that werewolf might have gone after. Sam, you were so brave."

Twelve year old Sam just shook his shaggy head. "No, Dean. I'm not brave. I was so stupid. I could've gotten you killed. Dad even said so. Dean, all I wanted was a normal birthday. I just wanted to be twelve, Dean. I wanted to have fun. I wanted to play soccer, but Dad told me no. He thought that taking me hunting on my birthday would be fun. I never wanted this, Dean. I never wanted to be a hunter. I wanted to be safe, and normal and happy. Not running scared, not unsafe and not…_not_ normal, but I stayed Dean. I stayed for you. Because you're my big brother. You're the only one that made me feel happy and safe and at home, but… I still wish we could've had normal, Dean. I really do," Sam's voice grew a little shaky and he blinked his eyes rapidly, looking away from his older brother.

"I know, Sammy. I'm sorry," Dean responded softly, running a hand through his little brother's hair to comfort him. "I know you did. I know you wanted to play soccer and eat birthday cake and go to school. I'm sorry I couldn't give that to you, Sammy. I truly am." And he was. He never knew his little brother had truly ached this much for normalcy. Dean let his head drop and he closed his spring green eyes tightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Dean felt Sam's small hand lay on the top of his head. "It's okay, Dean. I don't blame you. I will never blame you. You're still the best big brother in the world. Everything will be okay, Dean. I'll protect you." And then Dean felt the touch of Sam's hand against his head disappear. Dean looked up and as expected, twelve year old Sammy was gone. What was this about Sam protecting him? The last little Sammy had told him the same thing. Confused, worried and getting a little nervous as Sam's memories only seemed to grow worse the older he got, Dean stood up on his feet, dusted himself off, straightened his jacket and ventured on to wait more waited him in the neverending mirrors.

~End Chapter


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Okay, so this story was originally only going to be four chapters. However chapter four turned out being a lot longer than I thought! This one is a more mild, angsty one so my apologies! I promise we WILL get to the more scarier stuff and Sam's Hell stuff! That'll be coming up next chapter. Dean has to work through the mirrors to find his Sammy! Anyway, thank you SO MUCH to everybody who's read and reviewed so far! Leaving reviews really helps to keep me inspired and writing, so thank you to all of you guys for that! And now, onto the next installment! I hope you enjoy it all! Much love!

* * *

><p>Chapter Four<p>

Dean couldn't help but feel slightly rattled by these realistic forms of his brother appearing in front of him after a particularly powerful memory, but at the same time it was like that time he and Sam had went to Heaven, shot down by hunters Roy and Walt. He remembered the fireworks, the field, the Fourth of July, his little brother happy, smiling and dancing in an array of sparks. As if on cue, Dean glanced over at the next mirror and there was the memory. Fourteen year old Sam and eighteen year old Dean held sparklers and laughed at each other. Sammy's smile was wide, his laughter was near contagious and Dean couldn't help but find himself smiling as he peered into the mirror. He remembered the wonderful sensation of that night, the mischievous feelings both he and Sam had as they set off one illegal set of fireworks after another, and nearly burned down the field. The moment the fire had started, they exchanged glances and both said "oh shit" in unison. They'd grabbed their empty box that had stowed the fireworks and dashed off back to the car, both laughing near breathless before taking off so they wouldn't be found out. It warmed Dean's heart to know Sam still held this moment in his memories. This one in particular had been special to him, and it would seem it had been for Sam as well.

Dean ventured on, watching different images in the mirror. Some memories he didn't recognize or know. Some made his heart ache for his little brother or made his stomach twist painfully at some of the sights. Sammy and his dad arguing over soccer, arguing over hunts, yelling at each other for extremely off-the-wall, pointless things. He watched himself get in the middle of more fights between Sam and their father than Dean could count. There were nights when John would take off for weeks at a time, leaving his boys alone to attend school and for Dean to care for Sam. There were nights Dean would be awake, sitting in the living room or the next bed over in a motel room, listening to his brother cry himself to sleep, and he remembered how infuriated that had made him feel to this day. Still, Dean continued on, the memories growing younger and Sammy growing older.

A lot of memories made Dean angry, and he was tempted more than once to put his fist through the glass, but out of respect for Sam, he didn't. One memory in particular was when John tried to teach Sam how to drive. All he did was bark orders at the poor, flustered kid who ended up putting them into a ditch because he was so shaken by John practically biting his head off for every slight mistake Sam might have made behind the wheel. Dean had to pride himself on being the one who taught Sam how to drive and didn't yell his head off at Sam's mistakes. Instead of looking at his brother with scared eyes, he had looked at Dean with adoration and appreciation. Dean smirked as that memory popped up in the mirrors of a seventeen year old Sam behind the wheel of Dean's beloved Impala while the older Winchester gently explained the mechanisms of driving his baby, and before long, Dean was leaning back comfortably in the bench seat with his arms folded behind his head and shades on while Sam took them for a smooth cruise.

His heart began pounding in his chest when he came upon a memory he didn't remember. No, of course he wouldn't remember this one. Sam had been alone. He was sitting upstairs in his room in that old house they'd shacked up at for a time. Scattered about on the desktop were college applications. There were applications to Yale University, Princeton University, and Dean's eyes fell on the one in particular that changed everything; Stanford University. He could see Sam's eyes were focused on the Stanford application, his pen flicking back and forth nervously. He filled them out as precise as possible and slid them into big, yellow envelopes. Dean watched as Sam slid off of his chair, went down the stairs quietly and peered around the staircase. Nobody had been home that day it would seem. Sam was by himself for the time being, so he slipped out the door and went out to the mailbox. The mail hadn't been picked up yet as the flag was still up, and so Sam slipped his college applications into the mailbox, took a few quick looks around and then hurried back into the house.

The mirror changed to another memory. Sam was standing in the kitchen, looking at his acceptance letter from Stanford University. He was clutching it in his hands which were shaking and rattling the paper, but the eighteen year old was so excited, he could barely contain the brightness in his eyes or the corners of his lips upturning. However, nervousness could clearly be seen in his body language and Dean swallowed hard. He remembered this night. It had been one of the worst nights of his entire life. The night his little brother left home. Dean didn't want to watch, but couldn't keep himself from staring straight into the glass as the scene of that night played out before his eyes.

Sam walked from the kitchen slowly and into the living room where John was seated on the chair, the coffee table pulled up in front of him. There was a dirty, ragged towel spread out across the table. The Winchesters' weaponry lay scattered about with gun brush bores and cleaning products. Dean sat opposite of John on the couch in pretty much the same position, weaponry lying on a towel in front of him. Dean was holding his favorite gun, sliding a bore through the barrel while John was focused on a shotgun halfway taken apart. Sam walked into the living room unnoticed by his father or his brother. He cleared out his throat. "Hey, Dad? Dean?"

"Sam, why don't you pull up a seat and help us out," John ordered, not taking his eyes off of the piece of shotgun he held up in front of his face, one eye opened and the other squeezed shut, peering inside of it. "I hate it when blood sits too long in the guns. It becomes congealed and makes it really hard to clean," the older hunter muttered.

"Umm, Dad? Can it wait? I have something really important I want to talk about," Sam started, the nervousness clearly heard in his tone. John looked up at Sam, and so did Dean.

"Something wrong, Sammy? You find a hunt or something you're not sure of?" their father inquired, eyeing Sam as though he were trying to read him. Dean did have to give himself credit. He was the only one who had ever been able to read Sam. He'd been the only one who always knew or was close to knowing what was on Sam's mind. Call it the 'big brother radar' if you will, but Dean knew his little brother better than anybody did.

"No, Dad. I don't think that's it," Dean piped up and sat down his gun and the brush bore. "What's up, Sammy?" his twenty-two year old self coaxed. "You can tell us, little brother."

"O-okay, well. Something came in the mail for me. I thought you guys might want to see it," the younger Winchester began, holding his acceptance letter to Stanford behind his back.

"What is it?" John asked, sounding rather careless and more focused on cleaning his hunting tools.

"Dad, can't you pay attention to me just this once?" Sam pleaded softly. "Please? This is really important to me."

John looked sharply up at Sam, while Dean pushed himself up and walked over to meet his younger brother. "Dad," Dean spoke up in a warning tone, seeing that expression on his stubborn father's face and knowing he was about to say something to say. "What is it, Sammy?" the older brother asked, turning his attention back toward a now very nervous-looking Sam, and he _was_ nervous. Poor Sam was starting to break out in a light sweat. Dean could see the small beads of moisture forming on his kid brother's forehead.

John huffed a sigh and set his equipment down on the table to turn toward Sam. "Alright, son. What's this all about?"

"Well, before I graduated I had talked to some teachers about what I'd like to do with my future, and I decided that I want to go to college," Sam stated in a firm, clear tone. "So, I filled out some applications and I got this back." Sam slipped the acceptance paper out from behind his back and held it up for his father and Dean to see. "It's a scholarship! A full ride, Dad! That means I don't have to pay for tuition, books, nothing! It's all covered because of the scholarship and it's for Stanford University. Dad, this is one of the most prestigious schools in the entire country! I mean I've been really thinking about it, and this is what I want to do! Dad? Dean? I want to go college, and I want to be a lawyer."

Dean just gaped at Sam, while John stared thoughtfully at his son for a moment before bursting out laughing. "Well, that's great son. I'm glad you were smart enough to earn a scholarship to a big school. Too bad you can't go, huh?" John turned back toward his weapons, still chuckling.

The look of excitement on Sam's face quickly turned to one of confusion and conviction. "Dad… I'm going to school. I'm going to this college. I don't _want _to be a hunter. I _want_ to be a lawyer! I want to be successful! I'll still be helping people, but I don't want to live this life forever, Dad."

"What exactly do you mean by that, Sam? Is it because we're not living a life full of glamour behind a white picket fence in a big, beautiful house? Is it because you don't have a big, rich life, Sam? Are we just not good enough for your big city dreams?"

Sam looked flabbergasted and then his expression changed to that of a hurt one. "No, Dad. Not at all. That's not what I meant. I just meant that-," but he was cut off by more of John's angry words. The oldest Winchester rose to his feet now, and Dean stood in between him and Sam. Sam was taller than Dean now, and he could easily still see John over Dean's shoulder. Dean recalled how much that irritated him whenever he'd try and get in between one of Sam and Dad's wars. He figured that night, Sam should've counted his lucky stars that none of the weapons were put together for proper use.

"You know something, Sam? Maybe you should just go. Maybe you should just get the hell out of here! You never can do anything right anyway, and you're nothing like your brother. You want to go to school? Then fine. Get out of my sight. I don't even want to see you right now," John snapped, venom clearly heard in his tone.

"Dad, that is ENOUGH!" Dean shouted, grabbing ahold of his father's arm that began to rear back, his hand thrown back as though he were to propel a hard slap across Sam's face. "You stop it right! Both of you! This is ridiculous!" But John didn't seem to hear Dean. He just continued glaring daggers into his youngest son's hazel eyes.

"I can't even believe you, Sam. We've done nothing for the past eighteen years but search for this thing that took your mother away from you boys, and now you run? We fight, we hunt, and we save lives, but if people being saved is unimportant to you and doesn't matter, then just get out of my face. Get away from me. I can't even be in the same room with you. This is just…," John trailed off before turning away from Sam and Dean both, furious. He picked grabbed the phone from the nearby end table and launched it across the room. It made impact on the wall and broke into a bunch of little pieces before gravity claimed it.

Sam's breathing was erratic, causing his chest to heave with every intake. "Dad…this has _nothing_ to do with that!" the youngest shot back, trying to defend himself. "Of course I want people's lives to be saved, but I'm not good enough, Dad, just like you said! I'm not! All my life I have done my best to try and do everything you ask of me. I've worked hard, I've been raised like a warrior when I just wanted to live like a normal kid. I wanted to play soccer, but no. I had to sneak off to do that. I learned bow hunting because you insisted on it. I spent hours upon hours training from the time I learned these things exist until now. I just want to go to college, Dad! That doesn't mean I'm running away from you or Dean!"

"Yes it does, Sam. _You_ are leaving. _You_ are walking out on YOUR FAMILY!" their father exploded. "We obviously don't mean that much to you if you're just gonna take off and leave us all alone here! You're a selfish kid, Sam Winchester. Downright careless and selfish!"

"That's not true, Dad!" Sam's voice raised, beseeching, and Dean couldn't help but cringe as he heard the tears brimming in his voice. Sam looked at Dean, begging, imploring for his older brother to understand.

"Sam? Dad? Please, c'mon guys. This is ridiculous. We can work this out. We just need to talk about it. Please," the twenty-two year old Dean practically begged his brother and father. The memory just made Dean's heart sink. He remembered what it felt like for him, but Sam… He never knew that this still haunted Sam to this very day.

"I can't do this. FUCK this!" Sam cursed, turning sharply on his heel and stormed away. He raced up the stairs and into his room. Dean never saw this bit of Sam's memories because he'd been downstairs the whole time arguing with his father. Inside of his room, Sam dropped onto his bed, clutching his acceptance letter tightly in his hands, causing the sides of it to crinkle from the force of his grip. Dean watched the first tears fall and splash onto the paper, before Sam let go of the paper and he watched it fall, drifting slowly down to the floor, landing in between Sam's feet. He watched his kid brother bury his face into his hands and weep quietly. "Why isn't he proud of me? Most parents would be proud of their kids that score a scholarship to such a good school. Why can't he be happy for me? Why does he have to do this to me?"

Dean listened to Sam whisper to himself between sobs and watched his brother with his face buried into his hands, his shoulders trembling and jerking and the occasional sniffling from behind Sam's hands. It nearly broke his heart. Dean reached a hand out to touch the glass, aching and longing to hold his little brother in his arms and make all of that pain go away. His heart dropped further into his stomach, when his fingers just reached the cool glass once more, and he caressed the glass as if trying to comfort his brother from the other side of the mirror. "God, Sammy. I had no idea… I had no idea how hurt you were. If I had known… I just thought you were angry and going against Dad like you two always did. I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean could hear the footsteps coming up the stairs now, and he saw Sam raise his wet face from his hands and glare at the door.

Sam must've assumed it was their father judging by the venomous expression that crossed his devastated face. He grabbed his duffel bag and slammed it down in the bed angrily before whipping around back to his dresser and grabbing handfuls of clothes out and throwing them onto the bed. The door opened, but Dean saw that Sam did not even bother looking up.

"So, you're really serious about this, Sammy?" Dean questioned his little brother, approaching the bed and sitting on the end of it. Sam looked up at his brother, and Dean watched himself visibly cringe from the look on his brother's face. Sam's face was red and wet with angry tears, and he could see the moisture clinging to Sam's eyelashes.

"Don't try and talk me out of it, Dean," Sam responded in a thick voice, folding up clothes and haphazardly throwing them into his duffel bag, not even caring if they were adequately folded or not. He really wanted out.

"C'mon, Sammy. Dad's just having a bad night. He's scared of losing you. He doesn't want you to leave because he loves you," Dean insisted.

Sam snorted at his brother and turned toward him to look at him once more. "Oh, really? Is that so, Dean? Is that why he treats me so poorly? Why he yells at me for every tiny little thing? Even when, when… when his own _son_ scores a full scholarship ride to Stanford?" Sam's voice broke on the last word and he turned away from his older brother to resume his packing.

"Sammy, c'mon man. Don't do this," Dean pleaded with his little brother. "You guys just need some cooling off time, and then things will be better. You'll see."

Sam sniffled again and glanced back at Dean. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so sorry I'm not more like you. I don't know why, but I'm just not. Everything I do turns to complete and total crap, Dean. I can't do anything right at all. No matter how hard I try, it's never good enough. In Dad's eyes, I just can't do anything. You heard him. I'm either too slow or too fast or too lazy or too loud. I can't do it anymore, Dean. I've tried so hard more than you know to please Dad. I can't Dean. I'm just a screw up. In his eyes and in yours too," Sam's voice was beginning to tremble now with the onslaught of new tears.

"Sam, you know that's not true," Dean insisted. "You're the best little brother to me. You always have been. Everybody makes mistakes, Sammy. You shouldn't beat yourself up over it. I don't want you to change anything about yourself. You're definitely not a screw up either."

"I'm so sorry I'm not more like you, Dean. I tried to be, but I'm just… I'm not. I can't be. I'm not perfect. I can't be perfect like _he_ wants me to be," Sam made a head gesture toward their father who was somewhere downstairs." I feel like Dad is going on this slow suicide mission, and he's just dragging us along for the ride. I'm so unhappy with all of this, Dean. Sometimes I feel like I'm dying inside. I know how pathetic that sounds, but it's true."

Sam turned his eyes down to Dean's who was gazing up at him from the bed. Sam shoved the last of his clothes into his bag and walked out of the bedroom and went into the bathroom, grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste. He tossed them into the bag along with some books a few other things and then zipped it up. Then the younger Winchester stood upright, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "I can't do this anymore, Dean." Sam raised his free hand and scrubbed away the tears on his face, and then ran it down his mouth. "I'm going."

Twenty-two year old Dean sighed, dropping his head and running a hand through his hair unable to contain his frustration. Dean knew he always had a bad habit of lashing out when he felt frustrated, angry, scared and upset. He had been feeling all of the above. "You know what? Fine. You do that, Sam. You go and you see what happens to you when me and Dad can't come running to save your ass every single time you have a nightmare or get sick or get yourself into a bad situation," his younger self snapped at his little brother. Dean could remember how he'd instantly felt sorry when he saw that look of deep inside hurt on Sam's face. "Dad's right. You ARE selfish."

"If that's truly what you want to believe, Dean. Then go ahead. I can't stop you," Sam just told him softly. "But I'm not going down, Dean. Not with him, and not just to hunt this thing. I want a life, Dean. You should have one too." Sam didn't give Dean the chance to respond before he walked out of the door, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He stomped down the stairs where John stood in the kitchen, and he glanced at his father.

John was glaring daggers into Sam at this point, but the younger Winchester no longer had it in him to care. "You walk out that door, don't you ever come back," his father growled at him, his voice low, deadly and serious.

Sam just gave his father a hard stare, before turning and walking out the door, slamming it shut behind him. Dean ran down the stairs, dashed to the window and watched as Sam began walking down the road, wiping at his face and nose every once in awhile to clear tears, and the cramp in his heart intensified.

"I remember that night like it was yesterday," Sam's voice spoke up next to Dean who found himself turning toward his right to see his little brother all of eighteen years old, looking exactly like he did that night Sam left for Stanford, standing next to him. "That was probably one of the worst nights of my life," the kid spoke with a slight chuckle, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. "I think that was the first time I really felt truly alone, but I was pretty determined too. I really wanted to go to school and make something of myself," he said thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin. "Though no matter how hard I try, I can never put that night out of my head. I still don't understand it. Not at all."

"Why did you go, Sammy? Why did things have to turn out the way they did?" Dean questioned his little brother, doing the best to speak around the emotions clogging his throat.

"Because, Dean. You know why. I couldn't do it anymore. I felt like I was dying a little bit at a time each day, and I had to get out before it killed me. I wanted to go to college. I wanted to become a lawyer, marry a girl, have a family of my own," Sam responded softly, looking at Dean through his tuft of hair falling into his eyes. "You know, I had planned on buying a house for you and Dad to come and stay at, next to my own house. A place that you guys could call home should you ever need a break from hunting, or just needed a place to stay or decided to get out of the life. I never wanted to break the family up though, Dean. That was never my intention," the eighteen year old did his best to explain.

He shoved his hands down into his pockets and lowered his head, allowing his hair to shield his eyes from Dean's view. Dean felt his heart warm and clench at the same time at Sam's words. He turned fully toward his little brother. "I just wanted to go to school, Dean. That's all. Honest. I wasn't running away from the family. Dad closed the door on me. He told me if I left, not to ever come back. He kicked me out of the house, and all I wanted was to go to college. Most parents are proud of their kids when they score a full ride to a school like Stanford, Dean. Most parents don't kick their children out of the house and tell them to stay gone."

"Dad was proud, Sammy. Dad was really proud, but he was also really scared. He knows what was out there. You knew it too, Sam," the older Winchester.

"I did know that. I still do. That's why I wanted out of this life," Sam tried to explain. "You know what the hardest part was of all of this though, Dean?"

"What, Sam?"

"It wasn't listening to Dad insult me or tell me to get out of the house and never come back. It was leaving you, Dean. I wanted you to come with me, but I knew you wouldn't. I never wanted to go without taking you with me, Dean. I wanted you to be there. I wanted you getting on that bus with me to Palo Alto and to never look back, because I'm not whole without my big brother, Dean," Sam told him. He lifted his head, his hazel eyes wet. "I just wanted you to know that. I never hated you. I never resented you, and I was never angry at you. I just wanted you to be there with me too. Maybe even you could've gone to college too, Dean and had what you wanted."

Dean honestly felt his heart stop for a moment. He never knew that Sam had wanted him to be there with him. All these years, Dean was just convinced that Sam had been running away from his family, running away from hunting, running away from the truth, and maybe in a sense he _had _ been running away from it all, but he'd never been running from Dean. No, he'd wanted Dean next to him. He had wanted Dean there cheering him on while he aced each course throughout college. He had wanted Dean there, going to school and making a real, normal life for himself just as well. Sam's innocence nearly crippled Dean right there. He had been just a shy, inward, hardworking young man who wanted to make a happy, healthy and normal life for himself and his family. Dean's heart wanted to break at the prospect of it all, knowing that Sam's hopes and dreams went down the toilet, and now look at what had become of him. If only his eighteen year old self had known he was the true vessel for Lucifer, that he was going to end up up spending 180 years in Hell, in Lucifer's cage with two vengeful and furious archangels destroying his soul, rendering him a broken shell.

"Sorry, Dean," the young Sam told his brother, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the floor. "I just wanted you to know all that."

Dean placed both hands on his brother's slightly broadened shoulders. "I know, Sammy. I understand that now. I know you did. Thank you, Sam. Seriously. I don't know when I became so soft," Dean added with an eye roll, and the corners of his eighteen year old brother's lips turned upward into a weak smile. "But, thank you little bro."

Sam brought a hand up and placed it on his brother's arm, smiling a bit more now. "You're welcome, Dean. Don't worry. Everything is going to be okay. I'm here for you. I'm with you, and I'll protect you too, Dean. I promise."

Dean drew his eyebrows inward, furrowing them in confusion. The last few Sams he'd met told him the exact same thing. "Why do you keep saying that, Sam? What do you have to protect me from? Isn't that my job? My job is to take care of you, to protect you."

"And you do Dean, but just trust me, okay? Please, just trust me. Keep on going, don't stop til you find me, and I promise I'll protect you, Dean." And with that, the eighteen year old form of his brother disappeared before Dean's eyes.

The older Winchester felt his own eyes widen, and he scratched the back of his head in confusion. He was starting to feel irritated with this. That was three Sams who had told him the same thing now, so what was going on? What did Sam mean? Was something coming for him? Here he was, weaving in and out through Sam's memories, getting his heart broken, finding things he never knew, learning things he never wanted to learn, and things he did want to learn that made him both happy and angry at the same time. Feeling his frustration building up, Dean whirled around to face the mirror that was replaying Sam's memory of that night, and with a yell Dean raised a fist and launched it straight into the mirror. The glass shattered upon impact, but then as fast as it hit the floor and lay in glistening shards scattered around Dean, the mirror repaired itself. Dean glanced down at his fist to find that it was not cut up and bloody. No tiny shards of glass were embedded into his hand which he found even more strange, and the memory went on.

"I DON'T UNDERSTAND ANY OF THIS! SAM! IF YOU'RE THERE, ANSWER ME DAMMIT!" but there was no answer, only the sound of Sam's voice that night, earnest and sad and angry. Dean let out a heavy sigh and ran his hand through his hair. "Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself before lifting a foot and walking on past the mirrors and away from that horrible memory. All he wanted was to find his little brother and find him now before it got worse, before Sam could fall into something that Dean couldn't pull him back from. He just wanted to make Sam better. He just wanted to help him, and truly, inside of his little brother's freaky head, Dean felt nothing but helpless.

~End Chapter


End file.
